A night in and a ready meal for one…

Before you go feeling too sorry for me, this night in alone was mine by choice, and I won’t really be eating a ready meal - that was just well employed ‘clickbait’ as the people call it.

So, after nearly a fortnight of being diseased I am finally back to near full health - a few hacking coughing fits that make me sound like I smoke 20 a day are the last of the symptoms to fade. I’ve had all the downsides of a smoker’s cough and none of the upsides of looking suave and philosophical, although I have been employing a polar neck as much as is respectable! But this newfound health, the advent of which has been so recent, hasn’t left me leaping for joy, going for marathon-like runs, or even seeking the fresh air above my ordinary quote. No. Instead I have chosen to spend Saturday night under the covers with a glass of wine and a good book. My parents will be spending the evening quizzing and chin-wagging with the CSG Tennis Club. I had an open invitation but I am conscious of forever being my parents’ third wheel when it comes to Tennis club shenanigans. Three is not a good number in tennis. Therefore I made the decision to be a taxi service (one way only, of course - I’m not THAT loving a daughter!) and I shall drop them off this evening before retreating to my own company for a few hours. It actually sounds delightful.

That’s not to say I am being completely antisocial at the moment - I did in fact go to the British Museum yesterday with Rupert and we did talk. A bit. Or at least something resembling conversation was had. Although I have to say museums do tend to highlight my lack of an ‘inside voice’, as did the bookshops we frequented. I have never before had to ring the doorbell of a bookshop in order to be let in, but yesterday was a day of many firsts (and first editions!). We probably did look rather shifty - I certainly wouldn’t have trusted us. Typical book thieves.

My time recently, other than being filled with disease and self-pity, has also been proving fairly fruitful. I am trying to write more so that I can cast myself even if nobody else will! This writing includes lots of desperate e-mails seeking freelance employment, for which there is a certain amount of momentum building - watch this space. I am also reading plenty as well as trying to teach myself Italian. I am following the CD of some ‘Paul Noble’ who I must say I am finding irritating if informative. I have only spent just under an hour in total but I can already book a room or a table for two, because it is romantic, or ask why someone has not prepared the coffee, or ask someone to prepare the risotto, because it is exotic. Baby steps guys, baby steps. But I do hope that by the time I visit Rome in June (and Sicily very soon after) I am at least passable in my Italian and will be able to expand my vocabulary beyond ‘il risotto’, ‘il caffe’ and ‘la pizza’. Before I know it I’ll be composing Italian love poetry and taking a job as a gondolier on the canals of Venice. I wish!

All this talk of Italian food has given me an idea for tonight’s night in for one. I believe Italian pasta, Italian red wine and Italian cheese should make for a delightfully Latinate evening. I should probably read Ovid aloud as I lie eating on my side (although hopefully not until I throw up), or at least watch something suitably bloody. Quentin Tarantino anyone?